Page 77 of One Last Gift

Cassie smiled. “Me too.”

Amy placed the note on her lap, like she couldn’t bring herself to put it away just yet. “So. Wales?”

Cassie laughed, the sound a little incredulous. “So it seems.”

Tom had spoken to Tiff in December last year, apparently. He’d talked through prices, said he’d be in touch again during the following year. And then, Tiff had told her when she’d rung, she’d heard nothing. Obviously. Tiff hadn’t realized that Cassie was Tom’s sister, hadn’t connected the dots to the chap on the phone last year. But, yes, it was still for sale and yes, she’d love to talk through the details with Cassie directly.

Tom had used his half of their inheritance, put it in an account in her name, ready and waiting, should she want to use it. It was an investment, his note in the envelope had explained. He would be a shareholder in the business.

“You’re really going to go through with it? Just up and buy this place? Leave London?”

“I really am.” Linda had convinced her, had told her it didn’t have to be permanent—nothing had to be permanent. But if she didn’t try, how would she ever know? There was a lot of work to be done. Things wouldn’t be ready for some time. But she had plans—and now, she had money to start her on her way, plus her own inheritance money. She was going to try. If she failed, that was OK. But she was going to try. She was going to be brave.

And with that in mind, there was one more thing she had to do.

—

She stood outside the front door, staring at the slightly peeling green paint, trying to psych herself up to knock. Come on, Cassie. If she could quit her job, abandon her London life for bloody Wales, and start a whole new business venture, then she could do this. Because Hazel had been right. It was stupid to pretend that Sam didn’t have a place in her heart. She’d tried to shove him out. Tried, and failed.

She’d found out where he lived from his mum. He’d been in London for three months now, apparently. Since Cornwall. They’d been in the same city, all over the summer, and never seen each other. Which made sense, she supposed, given the size of London, but still, it didn’t stop the nerves on her skin from prickling at the thought that he’d been here the whole time.

She brought her hand halfway to the door, paused. Get a bloody grip, Cassie. She knocked.

It took five agonizing seconds before the door opened. And when it did, Cassie’s heart stumbled, then seemed to fall into her stomach.

Jessica. It was Jessica standing there, one hand resting on the doorframe. Her auburn hair seemed to shine as she pushed it back from her face, and Cassie felt, in that moment, ridiculously short and frumpy, next to Jessica’s tall elegance.

“Cassie!” she exclaimed, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, then smiled uncertainly. “How are you?” she asked in that sexy Irish lilt.

“I’m…” But she couldn’t think what to say. They were back together. They were living together.

“Jess?” It was Sam’s voice, calling from inside the house. The sound of it reverberated through Cassie. “Who is it?”

“It’s—”

“No,” Cassie said quickly, cutting her off. It had been stupid, she realized, to come here. Stupid to think that Sam would just be waiting around for her.

Jessica frowned. “You don’t want to see Sam?”

“No,” Cassie said again, knowing that she must look utterly ridiculous, showing up at Sam’s doorstep and then refusing to see him. “No, it’s OK. Sorry, I…I have to go, actually.” She backed away a step. Thank God. Thank God Sam hadn’t answered the door, that she hadn’t blurted out some stupid declaration of love, or asked him to come to Wales or something equally ridiculous.

“OK,” Jessica said, looking perplexed. “Do you want me to give him a message?”

“No, that’s OK,” Cassie said, already turning to walk away, to get out of there. Did Jessica know? Cassie wondered. Had Sam told her what had happened in Cornwall?

“Cassie?” Jessica called from behind her, and Cassie turned back. Jessica smiled, and it was impossible, right then, to hate her, even though she wanted to, because there was such genuine warmth in that smile. “You look really well.” She hesitated, like she wanted to say something more, but only smiled one more time, and closed the door.

Cassie refused to look back as she walked away, kept her head high, just in case anyone was watching. Of course. Of course Sam had gone back to Jessica—he’d been due to marry her in March, for God’s sake. And she was beautiful, and clever, and kind. Would they get married? she wondered briefly. Sam had clearly lost it a bit after Tom died—just like she had—but now that he was healing, would that still be in the cards?

Stop it, she told herself. There was no point going down that road, even as her stomach churned, nausea swelling and burning the back of her throat. It was her fault, wasn’t it? She’d accused him of being too scared to go back to Jessica, and now he’d done just that. She’d driven him back to his ex-fiancée, because she’d refused to admit that he was right, that she loved him too.

And now it was too late.

She took a breath, squashed down the feeling. She’d had the chance to say it back to him, to see whether they might finally be able to make something between them. She hadn’t taken it, and now she would just have to live with that.

So she’d go to Wales, and she’d find a way to pour life into that beautiful house. She’d honor Tom with that. And she’d leave Sam Malone, and her feelings for him, firmly behind.

Chapter Thirty-Six